


of bookshelves and boys

by agentromanova



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, Bisexual Natasha Romanoff, Bisexual Steve Rogers, M/M, Not-So-Oblivious Tony, Pining Steve, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanoff - Freeform, background Natasha Romanoff/Darcy Lewis, meet cute, past Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 17:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11696838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentromanova/pseuds/agentromanova
Summary: “I'm looking for The Art of Electronics by Paul Horowitz and Winfield Hill.”Steve's screaming on the inside. “I can definitely get that for you,” he (successfully) says calmly, and scans the bookshelf in a more subdued manner than he did a couple of moments before. Spotting it on the shelf, he reaches up to grab it for the man.As he hands it to the man, their hands brush together. Feeling a spark shoot through his body, his eyes immediately snap up to meet the man. Steve leaves his hand in that position for another moment, and then slowly retracts it.A beat passes, and with his eyes still trained on Steve, a shy smile quirks at the end of the man's lips.“Thanks, Bookshelf Boy."





	of bookshelves and boys

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill (from captainamericant): "I work in the library and I’m a little concerned for your health because you never stop studying."

Working at the city library had its perks.

Not only was it equidistant from the local university and his apartment, but it was an introvert's haven. It was an unspoken rule that workers had to leave library patrons alone unless otherwise approached, which was the thing that drew Steve to the job in the first place. His job description entailed sorting books on the shelves; if a patron were to approach him, he could easily divert them to a fellow library worker.

As a psychology major, Steve took delight in the fact that he could observe people in a way he had never could before in his twenty-years on this earth. However, despite these perks of working at the city library, Steve found working days to be monotonous. He loved working there — he really, truly did — but some days, all he wanted to do was skip work, head home, and nap.

Days like today.

“Perk up, Rogers.”

Steve snaps out of his thoughts, looking up to see Natasha smirking at him. “What's up, Nat?”

“Oh, nothing,” she says wryly, “just saw you looking like you were about to fall asleep and thought I'd save your ass before you get yourself fired.” 

With her flaming red hair and an olive military jacket, Natasha looked out of place in the monotony of the library. Given their history — Steve and Natasha had been a couple from their sophomore year to senior year of high school — it was a surprise to many people that the pair had become close friends, though it wasn't a surprise for Steve and Natasha themselves. Natasha had always been the extrovert counterbalance to Steve's introverted personality. Every time they hung out, Steve never felt the urge to tap out and go home, which was a rare feat. It was why they got on like two peas in a pod, and why Steve was reluctant of letting Natasha walk out of his life. There was a brief time that spanned a couple of months when they did not talk to each other due to the awkwardness that comes with a romantic break-up, despite how amicable it was; however, after they met up for a platonic reconciliation, it became apparent that Natasha felt the same reluctance that he did. After this was established, there was no lingering awkwardness; they moved into an apartment together with a third roommate Sam, and Natasha, who had since moved on, encouraged Steve almost every day to find dates. Her working at the library as a children's activities coordinator allowed for loud and joyful break times, and who better to spend it with than the closest friend Steve has ever had the privilege of having?

Laughing, Steve pushes his library cart forward, continuing to put books in their respective places on the shelves. “You've succeeded.”

“You've got a couple of hours left,” chuckles Natasha, inclining her head towards the clock. Steve's eyes slide towards the clock, and he immediately winces — _yep_ , six more hours to go, and it was only four o'clock in the afternoon. “Try to stay up ‘til then. Remember, Bucky's coming over tonight for karaoke.”

Steve rolls his eyes, smiling. “How could I _ever_ forget that?”

Natasha rolls her eyes in return, reaching out to pat Steve affectionately on the shoulder. “Keep on fighting the good fight until 10 o'clock, Rogers,” she mock-salutes him, “I'll see you then.”

And with that, Natasha saunters back to the kids' section.

Following her departure, Steve digs his earphones out of his pocket and plugs it into his iPod nano, placing it on shuffle. For the next couple of hours, Steve continues the tedious routine of sorting books out in alphabetical order, moving from end to end of the library. Once the clock struck nine forty-five and his library cart was nearly empty of books save for a couple, he allows himself a quiet but enthusiastic whoop.

_Almost done._

Steve heads over to the science section of the library, eager to finish sorting out the books on his cart onto the shelf as quickly as he could. Pulling his earphones out of his ears, Steve scans the bookshelf with a sense of urgency, grabbing a book from his cart and starts searching for what its place is on the shelf.

An unfamiliar voice — _a patron_ , his mind supplies — snaps him out of his urgency. “Hey, could you help me out, Bookshelf Boy?”

Steve opens his mouth to re-direct the patron to Clint at the receptionist desk, when he turns around and everything suddenly… _stops_.

The first word that comes to Steve's mind upon seeing the man is _striking_. Though he was clad in a simplistic outfit consisting of a white t-shirt with a cat, a light gray blazer, black jeans and black converse, he carried himself in a way that reminded Steve of runway models. He smelt of coffee and musk, a combination that should have repelled Steve but instead served to heighten his interest. The man looked like he was just barely in his twenties (with quite a bit of scruff), yet his piercing brown eyes conveyed that he was wise beyond his years.

Steve was completely enamored.

If Steve blanked out, the man didn't even seem to notice. Instead of redirecting the man to Clint, Steve finds himself nodding before realizing what he had just done. Inwardly face-palming, Steve chokes out, “Of course,” unable to take his eyes off the man's face.

“Great!” the man chirps, eyes lighting up in delight, and Steve has the bizarre urge to grab his face and press a kiss to his eyebrow. He gulps. “I'm looking for _The Art of Electronics_ by Paul Horowitz and Winfield Hill.”

Steve's screaming on the inside. “I can definitely get that for you,” he (successfully) says calmly, and scans the bookshelf in a more subdued manner than he did a couple of moments before. Spotting it on the shelf, he reaches up to grab it for the man.

As he hands it to the man, their hands brush together. Feeling a spark shoot through his body, his eyes immediately snap up to meet the man. Steve leaves his hand in that position for another moment, and then slowly retracts it.

A beat passes, and with his eyes still trained on Steve, a shy smile quirks at the end of the man's lips.

“Thanks, Bookshelf Boy,” he says softly. With that smile still on his face, the man breaks eye contact and heads towards the science study tables.

(Natasha finds him leaning against his library cart fifteen minutes later with a dopey smile on his face. She tells him later that it took five minutes for her to get him out of his head.

Steve has absolutely no recollection of this.)

~.~

Steve consequently became hyper aware of the man's presence.

Every day without fail, the man would be sitting at the same study table with a stack of engineering textbooks, his transitions propped on the bridge of his nose. Though Steve still ventured to other parts of the library as his job demanded of him, he found himself gravitating towards the science area of the library during his free time.

But of course, Natasha notices. Being as bright as she is, it was very easy for her to connect the dots.

“You know if you ask him out, he'd probably say yes,” she quips during one of their breaks. They sat on empty children's IKEA furniture in the children's section of the library, which was adjacent to where the man sat studying. Steve tears his eyes away from the man in the science study area, blushes an alarming shade of scarlet, and proceeds to play dumb.

“Ask _whom_ out?” he babbles, trying to hide his embarrassment of being caught.

Natasha fixes Steve with an unimpressed stare. “You keep making eyes at sunglasses over there,” she deadpans.

Steve sputters. “I don't… make eyes.”

“Steve,” Natasha chuckles in response.

Silence spread between the two friends, with Natasha staring knowingly at Steve's blushing face and Steve trying desperately not to meet her eyes. A small affectionate sigh escapes Natasha's lips. “Did I ever tell you how I got together with Darcy?”

Steve's inquisitive eyes immediately snap up to Natasha's. Darcy was Natasha's girlfriend who Natasha started dating in the time she and Steve were not talking. “I don't think I've ever heard this story.”

Natasha gives Steve a gentle smile. “Then listen up, sunshine boy,” she teases, using his mom's nickname for him. Steve rolls his eyes affectionately, and Natasha snorts quietly. “I promise there's a message here.”

The pair moves off the IKEA children's furniture and plops down onto the rainbow-quilted carpet next to it. Steve sits down in front of Natasha, crossing his legs in a manner akin to an elementary school student. Natasha leans her back against the IKEA children's table and looks Steve full in the face, with Steve meeting her gaze head on.

“During the summer after senior year, I went down to New Mexico to help Thor out with his new apartment,” she starts, referring to their friend from high school who moved to New Mexico to attend university. “The first night I was there, he wanted to check out the nightlife in the city, so we went bar hopping.”

A broad smile suddenly crosses Natasha's face, and Steve feels a smile creep up onto his face in response to his friend's evident happiness. “I met Darcy in the fifth bar we hit that night. Thor and I walked in during her set, and I felt like I couldn't move while she was singing because she sounded like an angel. Not to mention she looked pretty angelic too.”

“After her set, I went to join Thor at the bar, and I saw her come out of the backroom. She was sitting alone at a table near the stage, and Thor obviously noticed that I felt something towards her because he kept pushing me towards her table. Bastard kept telling me that I should take whatever chances I can get,” Natasha chuckles. “And I know we ribbed Thor for acting like a knucklehead back in high school, but he was right. Darcy and I hit it off, and the rest was history.”

“So I'm passing that advice down to you, Rogers,” Natasha grins, and Steve beams back. “Sunglasses shows up quite often here, and you work here six days a week. You're bound to talk to him again sometime, and when you do, you've gotta take a chance. Otherwise, you'll never know.”

Without a word, Steve opens up his arms and bounces forward to hug Natasha. Natasha wraps her arms around Steve's torso, and Steve nuzzles her shoulder fondly.

“Thanks, Nat,” he whispers gratefully.

Natasha smiles, leaning her head against Steve's. “Anytime, Rogers.”

~.~

In the following weeks after Natasha's talk, Steve kept trying to talk to the man during his shifts to no avail. Each approach he would attempt would not fall through due in part to Steve's anxiety. But oh, he _tried_. He'd take the long route back to the stockroom at the end of the night and his tongue would weigh heavily in his mouth at the sight of the man. He'd drop a handful of books in front of the man's usual study space to find the man not there. Hell, he'd start to approach him at the end of the night, and then duck behind a nearby bookshelf once he got within two paces of the man.

After ten instances of ducking behind a bookshelf, Steve resigned himself to the fact that he would never muster enough courage to approach him and decided to quietly pine from a distance.

~.~

Well, until his day off.

~.~

Coming into the library when he wasn't working wasn't ideal. Unfortunately, with a major paper for his behavioral psychology class due the following week that Steve was only three-fourths done with, finding another book to use as one of his already abundant sources was of the essence. It was hard and boring work, and sure, he could search Google for an excerpt of the book, but the prospect of seeing a certain man was worth the trip down.

The man certainly did not disappoint.

Clad in a simple black t-shirt and a pair of denim jeans, the man sat hunched over a study desk furiously scribbling down notes. A plethora of paper balls littered the floor, and accompanying the man on his desk was two bottles of Vitaminwater, a takeaway container, and a pile of textbooks. From his vantage point behind the man, Steve couldn't help but marvel at the vigorous movements of his right hand as he wrote; it reminded him of a distinguished conductor leading an orchestra through a particularly grueling piece.

 _Take a chance,_ Natasha's voice whispers in his head, and Steve blinks. _You never know until you try._

_Take. A. Chance._

Steve squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to clear his mind. Gulping quietly, he wills himself to move towards the man, trying to force his shaking legs forward.

Of course, the man chooses the moment Steve takes his first step to stand up and begin a stretch rotating at the torso.

Steve skitters backward, going behind a bookshelf as a shield. Breathing heavily, he peers out of the safety of the bookshelf, admiring the way the man's muscles contract under his AC/DC t-shirt. The man's gaze suddenly shifts to his direction, and Steve ducks back behind the bookshelf.

Quickly, he scans the bookshelf for his book, grabs it and darts away.

 ~.~

Steve is met at the checkout counter by Clint, who smiles broadly when he sees him.

“Steve Rogers, as I live and breathe!” exclaims Clint, “What are you doing here? Did you pick up a shift?”

Steve shakes his head and chuckles nervously, still a bit shaken from his almost-encounter with the man. He places his psychology book on the checkout counter and offers Clint a weak smile. “It's my day off, Clint.”

From behind the counter, Clint clicks his tongue mock-disapprovingly. He leans forward on his forearms and squints at Steve as if he was studying him. “And yet here you are at the library on your off-day. Don't you have… _weights_ to lift or something?" 

Steve chuckles lightly, his banter with Clint already raising his spirits. “Hey man, I need this book as a source for a paper I need to write. Weights come after. And you know what, since you mentioned it, I'll lift an extra twenty kilos _just_ for you today,” he jokes. Clint snickers and picks up Steve's book from the counter, beginning the process of checking it out.

“Damn right, you better do them for me,” replies Clint, “When you reach your goal of lifting four-hundred kilograms, you better know who to goddamn thank.”

“Yes,” Steve says, completely deadpan. “Natasha.” 

“ _Whatever_ ,” scoffs Clint. “I don't even know how you university students even have time to lift weights anyway.”

“It's all about time management,” quips Steve. “I find agendas pretty helpful.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “What, you schedule the times you piss?”

“Only when it's exam season and I need all the time I can get,” replies Steve. “Nat schedules her bathroom breaks on her everyday study schedules though.”

Clint lets out a silent whistle. “Impressive. How long do you usually dedicated to studying?”

“I usually get up to three hours a day,” answers Steve.

“Three hours?!” exclaims Clint. “Holy shit, that's like a drive to Atlantic City.”

Steve shrugs in response.

“I never understood how on earth you university students can sit still studying for _that long_ ,” whines Clint, handing Steve back the newly checked-out book. “There's a dude in the science area that's been studying there since opening. _Opening_. Six in the bloody morning, man. I don't know how he does it.”

Steve's heart stutters in his chest. “Are you talking about a guy in a black AC/DC t-shirt?" 

Clint nods sagely. “That's the one. I'm assuming you saw him still going at it?”

Steve gives a sound of confirmation, and Clint tsks in sympathy. “His profs must be riding his ass pretty damn hard. Dude's been drinking bottle after bottle of Vitaminwater like it's the goddamn fountain of youth. I feel for that guy.”

Steve tries to play it cool. “Did anyone check on him?" 

“The staff? No, scoffs Clint. “We can't talk to them unless they talk to us, dude. It's the unspoken rule, remember?”

Natasha's voice kick-starts in his head again, a seemingly endless chant of 'take a chance!'.

Right there and then, Steve makes a decision.

“Well, I'd better work on this paper, Clint,” he says, waving at his friend and walking toward the library exit. “Thanks for the help!”

“Hey, anytime man,” calls Clint from the checkout counter.

Steve exits the library and heads to his car, throwing his psychology book haphazardly on the passenger seat. Reaching to the backseat for his university sweatshirt, he pulls it out and puts it over his head.

_To hell with the rule._

~.~

Keeping his head down, Steve bolts past the checkout desk and heads to the science area, to the same bookshelf he had hidden behind before. Slowly, he peers out from behind the bookshelf to see the man still studying.

_Perfect._

All he needed now was an opening.

Steve squints at the desk, seeing if there was anything worthy to approach the man over. The paper balls that had been littered around his study area had been cleaned up, and the two empty vitamin water bottles Steve had seen earlier were gone. The takeaway container, however, was open, and Steve could smell the dizzying aroma of shrimp tempura emanating from the takeaway container.

Well, since the vitamin waters were gone, perhaps he could make do with the lack of beverage. Stealthily, Steve heads into the staff room by the science area. Fortuitously finding it empty, he locks the door behind him and scans the room for potential beverages for the man.

 _(What to do, what to do?)_  

Spotting white coffee mugs in the drying rack by the sink, he takes one and sets it on the staff dining table. Recalling that the man smelt like coffee during their first encounter, Steve pulls out a container of Nescafe coffee grounds from a cupboard, grabs a spoon from a drawer, and begins shoveling out scoops of grounds into the mug. 

Steve feels a vibration in his pocket and hastily drops the spoon into the mug, causing some coffee grounds to fly onto the table. Wincing, Steve pulls out his cell phone and breathes a sigh of relief upon seeing Natasha's face as the caller ID. 

Placing the phone down on the table and on speakerphone, Steve grabs a paper towel and begins cleaning up the scattered coffee grounds. “Hello?”

“Where are you?!” exclaimed Natasha, “The _Drag Race_ finale starts in fifteen minutes!”

“We already got the popcorn ready!” chimes in Darcy, who was in town for a week to visit Natasha.

“I don't want to be the third wheel, man,” grunts Sam.

“I'll try to get there as soon as I can,” replies Steve, making a mad dash for the kettle. 

Natasha pauses. “That's not an answer.”

Steve fills the mug up with water from the Culligan machine, pops it into the microwave, and sets it to one minute, forgoing the kettle for something quicker. “I… decided to take a chance.”

A beat of silence passes, and Steve overhears Natasha excusing herself. After a moment, he hears the telltale sound of a door closing and a lock clicking. “How'd it go?”

“Well, I haven't actually done anything yet,” he says sheepishly, turning the phone off speakerphone, and plopping down into a chair by the table. “I'm going to offer him some coffee since he's apparently been here since opening, and go from there.”

Natasha hums a sound of approval. “Sounds like a good plan. What kind of coffee?”

“Black,” Steve responds. “Playing it safe.”

“Clearly,” Natasha snorts, “What staff room are you in? I'm assuming the one in the science area?”

Steve makes a noise of confirmation, prompting Natasha to continue. “On the table, there should be a couple of Splenda packets, and in the fridge, there should be some Coffee-Mate. Sneak ‘em in your pocket to offer if he asks.”

“Will do,” answers Steve, exhaling nervously.

“Steve,” Natasha says softly, sensing Steve's anxiety, “it's going to be okay." 

“I don't know, Nat,” exhales Steve, “This feels like something bigger than just approaching some guy. It feels… _important_ somehow.”

“Well, the first thing you have to do is breathe,” responds Natasha, “And then just be yourself.”

Steve snorts quietly. “Yeah, sure. I'll just talk his ears off with my freaky knowledge about neurons. He'll totally want to date me then.”

“Hey, no one talks about my best friend like that,” says Natasha fiercely, “I'll kick your ass.”

A beat of silence permeates the line, which is immediately broken by the friends' mutual snickering. “I love you, Nat." 

“And I you,” she replies, “Now go get him, tiger.”

The microwave beeps as soon as he hangs up.

Steve heads towards the microwave, pries it open and pulls the mug out, finding it sufficiently heated. Sliding two packets of Splenda from the table and a handful of Coffee-Mates from the fridge into his pocket, he partakes in some box breathing before determinedly walking out of the staff room with the mug in hand.

_Here goes nothing._

~.~

One thirty-second walk later and Steve's back to where he started, staring at the back of the man's head. Though now, no bookshelf obscured him from view; if the man turned around, he would get an eyeful of a gaping Steve.

Regardless, the coffee would get colder with each moment he spent standing there. Swallowing his fear, Steve moves his shaky legs forward and taps the man on the shoulder, mustering up every bit of confidence he could. “You doing alright?”

The man turns around on his chair and blinks, clearly disoriented. It seems like he's about to snap at the interruption to his studies, and then - 

Their eyes meet.

And the electricity that had flown through Steve during their first meeting re-emerges.

The man's demeanor visibly softens.

“Bookshelf boy,” he says, a fond smile quirking at his lips, “Nice to see you again.”

Steve smiles shyly back. “Likewise. Although I've gotta ask if you're alright since you've been here studying since opening.”

“Oh, you've noticed?” asks the man, waggling his eyebrows.

A blush overtakes Steve's face. “Yeah, you're kind of hard to miss. The staff was getting worried…”

“Hard to miss? What a compliment,” says the man, standing up to extend his hand towards Steve. “I'm Tony, by the way.”

Steve places the coffee mug on the study desk, reaching out to grip Tony's hand firmly in his own. “Tony,” he repeats, rolling the name around on his tongue. It fits like a glove. “I'm Steve.”

“Steve,” repeats Tony softly as the two shake hands. The pair lets go of each other's hands at the same time, and Steve immediately misses his warmth.

“It's nice to put a name to the face,” Tony chuckles gently, leaning against the chair. His eyes diverted to the mug of coffee Steve had left on his study desk, and Tony grips it at the handle, holding it out towards Steve.

“Your coffee, _Monsieur_ ,” he says in a faux French accent, eliciting a nervous laugh from Steve. 

“It's uh, actually yours,” replies Steve, scratching at the back of his neck.

Tony's eyebrows raise to the top of his forehead. “It's mine?”

Steve felt that he might as well turn into a tomato with how red he felt his face getting. “Like I said, the staff was worried.”

Tony regards Steve for a moment, biting his lip to restrain his laughter. Finally, he swigs the entirety of the coffee from the mug, and smiles toothily at him. “Give the staff my thanks.”

“Um, you're welcome. I mean, uh, the staff says you're welcome,” stutters Steve, inwardly swooning over Tony's smile, “if you know, they heard you thank them. They—they would say you're welcome.”

Eyes sparkling with mischief, Tony places the empty mug back onto the study table. He reaches behind him for a post-it note and a sharpie pen, quickly scrawling something down. He then throws the pack of post-its and the pen backward and leans in towards Steve so that they're almost nose-to-nose.

Steve begins stammering. “W-what are you doing?”

Tony peers at Steve affectionately, taking Steve's right hand into his left and stuffing something into his palm.

“Giving the staff my thanks,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Steve's cheek.

Once Tony steps back, Steve uncurls the item in his hand, seeing a phone number scribbled down on the post it along with a message.

_For when you stop hiding behind bookshelves. — T.S._

 Steve's eyes immediately snap to Tony, who had a mild smirk on his face. “Think I wouldn't notice, huh? Don't worry, I only found it a little stalkerish.”

“I guess I really didn't think that one through,” laments Steve, his cheeks turning a more brazen shade of scarlet.

Tony gives a bit of a half-shrug, “Well, it worked.”

A seed of hope begins to bloom in Steve's chest. “So, uh, would you like to go to dinner?”

Tony bites his lip. “I would right now, but I'm swamped with deadlines. And I'm sure you are too,” he says, gesturing to Steve's sweater, which proudly displayed the local university's logo. Only then is Steve reminded of the Psychology book wasting away in his car. _Damn it_ . “But please, call me when we aren't up to our ears with deadlines. Also, when _Drag Race_ isn't on."

_Drag Race?!_

Steve was completely and irrevocably infatuated.

“Will do,” replies Steve. Grabbing the mug from the desk, Steve fixes Tony with a fond look, “Don't stay here too late. Go home and rest. I'll see you later.”

Tony rolls his eyes affectionately and gives Steve a mock-salute, “Ay, ay Captain!”

Laughing, Steve shakes his head and heads back to the staff room with a spring in his step. He saves Tony's number to his phone, sends him a " _hi :)_ " with his name attached, and starts up the dishwasher to clean the mug.

A chime sounds from his pocket as he puts the mug into the dishwasher, and Steve pulls out his phone to see a text reply from Tony.

_I hate to see you go, but I love to see you walk away. ;)_

Steve lets out a startled peal of laughter.

Yeah, this was _totally_ the start of something special.

**end.**

**Author's Note:**

> Wellp, that was a trip. 
> 
> Shoutout to Shayla (captainamericant on AO3) for being the one to prompt this to me in the first place to take me out of my years-long hiatus from fanfiction! Also for being a rad af beta, helping my with dialogue, character and plot, and being an all-around amazing person. You rock! x
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed! :)


End file.
